


Midnight in the Yard (1/1)

by missmollyetc



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Got the idea based off of a short lil' exchange of comments with <a href="http://wrenlet.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://wrenlet.livejournal.com/"><b>wrenlet</b></a> on Shakespeare's Sonnet 147</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [numb3rs](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/tag/numb3rs)  
---|---  
  
_ **FICLET: Midnight in the Yard (1/2)** _

 

Title: Midnight in the Yard (1/1)

Pairing: Don/Charlie

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Hell no, these boys ain't mine. If they were, I'd spend more time outdoors.

 

 

The tree outside the garage at night is not adequate cover, nor is the slender trunk Charlie leans against, but his brother's hair is caught dark against darker leaves, and his skin is white below, and Don finds himself stepping closer. It's a cold night, and Charlie should be cold as well, but instead he's burning. A heady, sultry heat that sinks inside Don's mouth as he latches his teeth in Charlie's neck.

Charlie exhales steam against Don's ear, and his arms stretch up into the tree branches, fingers winding around leafy twigs. He sags against the bark, shirt open to the waist, and Don's mouth drags lower. Salt and sweat, dry dust of chalk congeal on his tongue as he swallows, heat building. His hands grapple at Charlie's waist, frantic on buttons and belt buckle and zipper until they claw inside and around. Charlie moans above him, loud too loud and hoarse, and:

"Quiet, for god's sake keep quiet, please," Don whispers, then bites when Charlie refuses to obey. His moan shatters the quiet, and Don can hear the rattle of tree branches, the creak of stressed wood as leaves rain down on his bent back. A car passes on the street. He staggers forward, inward, and Charlie spreads, sliding around him and inside his mouth heavy on the tongue. Fluid coats his mouth, more bitter than chalk, saltier than sweat, but Charlie, always Charlie, and Don suckles hard, forehead sealed to the undulating stretch of stomach before him. Charlie bucks wildly, a twig snaps and scratches Don's ear on the downfall.

Charlie hisses. The branches whip over their heads. His hips thrust rise, and Don follows them as they fall. He chases the skin under his fingers, scores it with his nails, and Charlie's heat flows through him, roaring like camp bonfires, so bright that the afterimage sears Don's eyes, and he shuts them to shut them out. But Charlie is here, Charlie is under him and in him, and Don pulses in tune with his brother's flame.

Charlie groans. Charlie comes, and Don swallows, heat spreading bright and sharp until his brother slips from his mouth, standing panting above him. Don's hands fall to his thighs. His cock pushes against his fly. The tree above is quiet, and the world around them is dark, darker than night. All light gone, maybe none to be had in the first place, and Don breathes out, cold leeching in again.

A hand cups his jaw, smelling of bark, sticky with sap, and heat builds once more as Charlie bends around him.

 

 

End.

 

[Go to the Next Part](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/148949.html)

 

The sonnet in question:

 

My love is as a fever, longing still   
For that which longer nurseth the disease,  
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,  
the uncertain, sickly appetite to please.  
My reason, the physician to my love,   
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,  
Hath left me, and I, desperate now, approve   
Desire is death, which physic did except.  
Past cure I am, now reason is past care   
And frantic-mad with ever more unrest;   
My thoughts and my discourse are as madmen's are,  
At random from the truth vainly express'd

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,  
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

 

\- Shakespeare, Sonnet 147


	2. Morning in the Yard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A companion piece to Midnight in the Yard

One hand pillows his head, and the other arm protects his stomach, fingertips brushing the hilt of his pistol. Don's eyes are closed, black lashes trembling on his cheek. His mouth parts on a breath as he settles further into the grass.

Charlie, dusty with chalk, sneaks closer. Sunlight flirts on his brother's cheek, shading one spot tan and the other golden. His shirt, pristine white just this morning is dotted with green now, damp with dew and sticking to barely glimpsed skin.

Charlie goes to his knees, a few feet from Don's side. With a wide-eyed glance to the blind windows of his home, he sinks his fingers into the ground, braiding the grass around his knuckles. He takes a deep breath and smells earth tumbled around him. The new row of perennials--their mother's favorite--burst with color on the edge of his sight.

Don's shoulders twitch, sink deeper into the ground as if it cradles him better than any bed. His legs splay out comfortably, naked heels barely making a dent. His head slips to the side, breath steals out and a slight breeze ruffles Charlie's hair.

He steals closer, quiet on his hands and knees, prickled by the glare from the windows above them. Don doesn't wake up at his approach. He relaxes into the earth, muscles easing, and Charlie risks a slight brush of his brother's sleeve, where the sunlight curves around the protrusion of his wrist. Don is warm, a steady, unceasing, glowing heat like mid-morning sun. Charlie's fingers travel along the seam of Don's shirt, up to the crooked elbow, pushing slightly against the muscle, dense and resilient.

A hiss of breath, and Charlie snatches his hand clear, sitting back on his heels and tucking the offending digits under his hip. Don's eyes are slits, cool and secretive. He licks the swell of his bottom lip.

Charlie raises his chin, and Don's fingers twitch over his stomach. His hand reaches up, away from his pistol and hovers in the air. With a short flick, he gestures down to the grass.

His brother's eyes never leave him as Charlie slowly descends to the ground. First the hip, then the ribs and shoulders, uncurling his long legs until his toes bump against Don's. He lays his head down into the grass, and rolls onto his stomach. Don's elbow blocks his sight.

He hears a sigh, softer than breeze, and then Don unclips his pistol, setting it over their heads. He turns over as well, head still in his palm, and closes his eyes. The sun caresses his back and over the rise of his ass.

Charlie rests his hand at Don's elbow, soaking up the warmth.


End file.
